


tenderly, gently, violently

by myriadslashes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, One Shot, post crimson flower, sort of both byleth/DK and byleth/jeritza, they duel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21694408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriadslashes/pseuds/myriadslashes
Summary: Jeritza finally has the confrontation he's always wanted with Byleth.It ends better than expected.
Relationships: Jeritza von Hrym/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 14
Kudos: 186





	tenderly, gently, violently

The Imperial palace feels empty.

With Those who Slither in the Dark successfully vanquished, there is no more prey for the Death Knight to hunt. It isn't enough that there are hunting grounds a— it does not please him to kill a bear for meat, or hook a fish on a line. The blood he desires is closely reminiscent of that which he'd felt on his hands when he had murdered his ill-intentioned father.

But with the immediate threat defeated there is no chaos to be had, especially not in Enbarr. With the Empire in control, there is no one of significance to threaten its peace.

And he dislikes it. There are no more large-scale battles to be had. There is only the Professor, and he is out on a visit to his former students.

They had made a promise, to fight — once when they first met, although it was only implied, and then next when they were fighting side by side, in Shambhala. The Death Knight's memories of then are scattered, because of the other soul who resides in his same vessel. He remembers only the rending of armor by his scythe, and the Professor next to him with only his blade to fend off the soldiers surrounding them.

But the promise has not been fulfilled. It gnaws at him intensely. It's to the point where he's looked at the residents of Enbarr and thought that perhaps he'd lose control, disrupting the stability that Her Majesty has so carefully constructed.

So it's unfortunate that when he finally opens his door and sees the Professor has returned, a strange lightheadedness assaults him — and he's gone.

* * *

"Hello, Jeritza."

Byleth looks at him expectantly. Jeritza blinks.

"Why… are you here?" he asks, slowly. "Did I invite you?" He can think of no reason Byleth would want to come here out of his own will. Not when the man would be risking at best a boring conversation and at worst, death.

"Uh, no," the Professor says, leaning against the doorway, "I just wanted to see you. There is something we have to talk about."

"What is it?"

Byleth invites himself inside and goes to sit at Jeritza's table. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a baked treat fresh from the dining hall. "Take this."

"...Hm." Jeritza examines it with surprise, then accepts it. The Professor visits him often, but the frequency does not take away the warmth he feels from kindness. The sweetness is comforting. "You did not answer the question."

"It is better to eat now, to restore your energy." Byleth explains, consuming his own share. The explanation doesn't make sense to the other man. "...Is it time?"

"Time for what?"

"For us to spar. To the very end."

"Spar?" Jeritza repeats. It is not an unwelcome invitation, but the word brings memories of the monastery, when he was still teaching there. He is not sure how much of him Byleth has seen. "...If you so wish. There are training grounds here." 

His reaction seems to be wrong. Byleth has a vaguely confused frown on his face. It would be cute if not for — no, okay, it _is_ cute. "Is something the matter?"

"I just thought this was something you were very excited about," he says, looking forlorn. "I wanted to fulfill your dreams… You know, all that about fighting to our very last?"

Jeritza searches through his memories. Maybe he _had_ mentioned such things to him long ago. When he had thought that there was nothing else to live for besides the promise of a blade. "...Oh? I do not remember clearly, myself. But I would not mind, in any case. A fight does seem intriguing."

"...Even if it was to the death?" Byleth unsheathes and holds up the Sword of the Creator. It glows with its ancient power. Jeritza hadn't even noticed it was on his person. "I will not hold back."

"To the death…"

Jeritza's voice trails off, and he looks bewildered. He feels his grasp on the world slipping. Byleth waits for him to continue, in anticipation — but Jeritza's no longer the one in the vessel.

His pupils take on a darker, purple colour, a change that Byleth has never observed so close, and the man turns toward Byleth, wide-eyed.

" _Of course_. _It is you_. You have finally arrived."

The Death Knight smiles. It's a smile that bears Jeritza's likeness, but none of his personality. It sends shivers down Byleth's spine, but it's not entirely unpleasant. He stands his ground: " _You_ were the one who asked for a fight."

"Yes," he says, "and I have been waiting an eternity to fight — to feel your blood spill across mine, to have that sword of yours pierce my skin and perhaps even for you to slay me. Once and for all."

"If that's the case," Byleth says, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword, "you may experience just that." The Professor is drawn into this now — his and the Death Knight's fates are now intertwined. He is not sure where Jeritza will come into the picture, but it's hard to think about it now that the time has finally come.

The possibility of being defeated for once is exciting to him. Because of his status as the commander of the Strike Force that led the Empire to victory, and as the mentor of the Emperor herself, there is no one who would challenge him to a fight like this. No one besides the Death Knight.

With the power of the progenitor god gone along with green in his hair, there is nothing to protect him from death now, should it come for him. He has a vague understanding that he would probably regret it should he actually be killed — his students and his friends would miss him. But none of that matters now, not when _he_ is here in his presence.

"We shall meet in the training grounds." the Death Knight declares, "I will bring the Scythe of Sariel, and you the Sword of the Creator. Then we shall see who lives, and who dies."

Byleth finds himself nodding, and they leave for their respective destinations.

(He feels the weight of resolution upon him. These could be his very last moments, but he could not care less.)

* * *

The Death Knight had left the Scythe for reforging at the blacksmith's just for this very occasion. He picks it up, feels the familiarity in his fingers. He can scarcely believe that the time is finally upon him — _years_ he has searched for a viable opponent. He has never felt fear, but the sight of the Professor sends him into a sort of frenzy — that _he_ could be the one to slay him is a thought he's clung to since he saw him fight.

Byleth is already there when he arrives at the training grounds. He's examining the Sword with a contemplative gaze, but turns to look at him once the he steps past the doorway.

"I've been thinking," the Professor says, "that maybe we shouldn't use these weapons."

The Death Knight is surprised. Surely the idea of using their most lethal weapons against each other was appealing?

"A scythe and a relic sword... that's a strange matchup, isn't it?"

"What do you propose we use instead?"

Byleth walks over to the nearby weapons stand and draws out two steel swords, identical to those the more experienced soldiers used in training. "I think these would be better. The battle will then be reduced to only ourselves and our raw skill."

"You assume you can best me with a regular blade."

"That _is_ the reason you've been so fixated on me."

The Death Knight frowns. "Maybe that is so. But I had always wished for my end to be by the sword only _you_ can wield." He moves to Byleth and takes one of the steel blades out of his hands. Byleth does not resist. "I do not care if I use the Scythe or not. I will utilize _this_ to the best of my abilities."

"If it will make you happy," the Professor concedes, "I will wield the Sword of the Creator."

The word gives the Death Knight pause. " _Happy._ What you said…"

"I don't know what you would describe it as. Content?"

"...In a certain light. No, in every way — I am _content_ with this." He draws his sword, relishing the exhilaration that only the Professor can give him. "Now, post-haste. I fear I cannot wait any longer."

" _En garde_ ," Byleth says breathlessly, and points his blade toward him as well. The Death Knight holds a height advantage, but the Sword gives him a better reach. It was wise of the other man to suggest the change of weapons after all.

The Knight advances. Byleth steps to the side. There's a deafening clash as he turns to parry. He wrenches the Sword back.

"...Have you killed before?"

The Knight blocks his next blow and slashes down. "You know the answer."

Byleth feels the tear of fabric. His arm. "But anyone who actually _meant_ anything to you?"

He retreats, and the Knight follows. "...No."

"And that's because no one holds any meaning to you."

He cuts through air. The hilt feels painful in his hand.

"You're wrong." The breath is knocked out of him. "Her Majesty is important to me. It is to her I owe my life. And my… sister …"

The Knight slows, falters. Byleth lunges and strikes. "Mercedes."

" _Yes_." The Knight ignores the reddening tear through his left shoulder. He goes for Byleth's wrist, but their blades cross instead. "Although she loves only Emile."

"You share a host with him." Byleth glides backward and maintains a distance. "She accepts you as well."

"I do not see how she could." The Knight closes the gap and cuts him above his eye. "There is no way she means it."

Byleth blinks. The sting is invigorating. "I don't think you ever _will_ see, but it is true." They struggle for a moment, swords pressed against each other. "Is there anyone else?"

"... _You_." The Knight fends him off. Byleth wonders if he has grown rusty already. "So I suppose you will be the first kill who was of any significance to me."

"I am not going down easily." The Sword's blade slips past the Knight's eyes — he blinks momentarily and Byleth moves in to attack.

The other man recovers too soon and jumps away. "Even if you _do_ end me, I would not care." His blade sweeps upward and notches another cut. Byleth stumbles. "To die by your hand would leave me at peace. Now up your speed, or I shall kill you instead."

"At peace," The Professor repeats. "Very well. Would it make you happy?" The Sword catches the Knight by the side — he inhales, sharply.

"That word again," the Death Knight says, stepping back, "What do you think it means to me — No, what does it mean to _you_?"

"I am no longer sure," Byleth confesses. Blood pounds in his ears. He grows highly aware of all the places where the Knight has struck him. "My students make me happy. My friends bring me joy. But there is nothing that gives me such satisfaction as this _chase_."

"Chase?" The Knight sees his hesitation, and brings the pommel of his blade down on Byleth — he slips away once again. "You mean this?"

"I mean the way this fight seems to have no clear end, despite how we are running toward the same goal." They stop for a moment, backs turned to each other.

"Then you do not want to kill or be killed." The end of the Death Knight's sentence is slightly upturned, like a question. "What is it you truly seek?"

"Logically," Byleth says, "I guess it must be time spent like this with you. The journey we have together toward a common end."

"But if we do not slay each other, there _will_ be no end. Is there a journey in that?"

"One day, when one of us can fight no longer — that will be the end. I will be happy to end your life."

Byleth strikes backward with the handle of the Sword, shifting weight to shove the Death Knight to the ground. Then he turns.

"Or, if you would so wish… I can slay you here and now."

The Knight looks dazed at the other end of the Sword's blade. He gives Byleth an inscrutable gaze.

"No," he says, "I realize, now. To die is never what I wanted."

He reaches for the blade that was knocked out of his grasp. "I want _you_ , and your presence. To live with it. If I am slain, I will not have that."

Byleth nods. Something stirs within the Death Knight.

"Then stand," the Professor commands, "and fight."

* * *

"What… is all _this_?"

"Shhh. Sorry. This may become a sort of regular occurrence."

Byleth shushes Jeritza with a finger to his lips as his other hand glows with a healing spell. He's kneeled on the floor next to him — Jeritza had fallen to the ground in apparent shock when he'd taken control from the Death Knight.

"You... fought him and survived." Jeritza looks doubtfully at the blood on the Professor's face, then at the magic swirling around his shoulder. 

"We came to an understanding." Byleth looks at him disapprovingly. "Now keep quiet. Let the magic work. I did quite a number on him."

"It seems like he cut you quite a bit as well."

"It certainly was... a fulfilling duel."

"So you have grown fond of him," Jeritza says. The spell is making him slightly dizzy — his eyelids flutter closed. "Is that it?"

"...I guess you could say that?" Byleth releases his grip on him before going to work on his own injuries. The blood is still sunken into his clothes, but the flesh is once again unbroken. "I'm not sure what to feel. I think he likes me too."

" _Likes —_ " Jeritza cannot hide the surprise in his voice. "The Death Knight?"

They rest there for a moment, Byleth keeping his silence in hesitation before speaking: "I hope so, at least. We will be great friends."

"Friends…" Jeritza says, "From the way you speak about him it sounds like you are soulmates."

"Is that true..." Byleth shrugs. "Maybe. Is that jealousy in your voice?"

"... _What?_ " Jeritza opens his eyes when he fails to catch the curveball thrown at him. He speaks with a wronged indignance, but his words waver: "I did not think you the type to be able to discern such things."

Byleth stands and brushes the dust of the training grounds off his clothes. He extends a hand to Jeritza, who looks at it for a second before taking it to stand. It's warm.

" _Speak_ ," Jeritza commands him.

"It's just a gut feeling I had." Byleth slides the Sword back into its sheath and advances toward the palace gardens. Jeritza follows closely. "Don't worry, though. He does not replace you."

"...Continue."

"There is another reason I didn't want a duel to the death with the Knight." He stands in the grass, the sun on his face — he looks to Jeritza like he's the light of the world. "If I slew him, you would disappear as well."

"You were thinking about _me_ during —"

"Why do you think I stayed around to heal you?"

"...It _is_ a thing you would do."

"It wasn't just courtesy. I like taking care of you. And spending time with you."

"Oh," Jeritza says, unsure what to think. "I've never really met someone like that. Besides my sister."

"Maybe because you don't allow them to?" Byleth has seen how Jeritza keeps to himself — past and present, sealed off from the world outside of the people he truly knows.

"For their safety."

"I see." Byleth looks him in the eyes, striking blue boring into his own, "Well, I don't mind being special."

"I… do not mind it either." Jeritza finds himself speaking without meaning to, returning his gaze. "...Thank you."

Byleth smiles, and suddenly there's no more distance between them. He grabs hold of Jeritza for support, reaches up and kisses him once, twice — Jeritza is utterly dazed, but finds his left hand reaching around Byleth's waist, pulling him closer.

"What… was the meaning of that?" He asks, after it's done, even as a strange emotion rises up in his chest. It's something that radiates a familiar warmth throughout his being.

"It means I like you," Byleth says simply, "a lot."

"I think that's called…" There's a bit of hesitation on his end. " _Love?_ "

"Maybe it is," the Professor nods. "No, I _know_ it is."

"That is reassuring, then," Jeritza says, "I've only ever heard good things about love."

"Shall we go get some sorbet from the dining hall, then?" Byleth takes Jeritza's hand unbidden and starts leading him to their destination. "I think they have peach today."

"I won't object." Jeritza can't remember the last time he'd felt so satisfied.

They start to walk there, together, and it's only when they've reached the steps to the hall that Jeritza turns to him.

"I just realized something."

"What is it?"

"I…" It's Byleth's knowing smirk that makes Jeritza finally say it. "I think I love you too."

**Author's Note:**

> alt summary : byleth realises he has been chasing after the inherent homoeroticism of sparring passionately to the death
> 
> honestly unsure how to write both jeritza and the death knight properly but i needed the content so this exists now


End file.
